The Unsung
by Halcyon Winter
Summary: Following a blood elf priestess thorough Northrend. Please note it is long!
1. Chapter 1: Northrend

_Disclaimer: This is a fanfiction, which clearly states the intent of my story. The concept belongs to Blizzard, and no copy right infringment in intented. In short, this is for fun =)_

_Note: Please feel free to review and thank you for reading._

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><p>The wind carried the smell of death away and fortunately they stood up wind. The steady, cold breeze whipped her white blonde hair about, revealing her pointed ears. The stray wisps of hair danced along her delicate elven face like a prison. Her large companion shook his massive shoulders, unaffected by the cold and ice that surrounded them. Northrend in all it's the frozen glory. Looming walls of jagged black ice surrounded them on all sides, and the ground beneath was a mixture of rock and ice, cracked with fissures and crevices large enough to swallow her whole.<p>

Valena Sunblinder blinked green orbs at the sight of the massacre. Alliance and Horde alike littered the ground like marionettes with their strings cut; left in the positions they had fallen, limbs bent in disturbing places and gaping masks of horror painted their faces. In the aftermath of the battle it was nearly incredulous, a travesty. To lose so many... and for what? _''What has come of our war?' _She thought to herself, feeling reflective. Around the fallen soldiers laid the corpses of large humanoid spiders, the necrofiends, their purple and green exoskeletons simmering faintly in the weak sun. Black blood tainted the ice underfoot, and blood soaked the snow elsewhere. Everywhere she looked there was blood, bodies, and death._ 'Does this bring you peace, Arthas? Has it ever brought you peace?'_

A heavy, warm and immense weight settled upon her shoulders, and she looked over to find Gandin Spirit's ever-present bear-skin cloak encasing her nearly nude body, draping to the ground and collecting on the dirty ice, her height insufficient to keep it from dragging. Her great tauren companion grunted and withdrew his hands, continuing his own scrutiny of the battlefield. Pennons, folds of clothing and hair -both humanoid and beast- stirred fitfully in the breeze, but nothing alive moved aside from them. Valena drew an icy breath and questioned her friend, her sultry voice calm. "What do you make of this, Gandin? Or are warriors too stupid to understand the significance?"

The massive tauren warrior shook his shoulders a second time and snorted. "We've been together too long for your acid tongue to sting me, Valena. I know you hide behind your cruel words in fear of what is out there, what it is we face. Very well, little Elf, I will play along. The Alliance scum were fighting the Scourge peons, and weak as they are, were failing. Our Horde Vanguard caught the scent of blood and came in from behind, pressing their own attack against both adversaries." He pointed as he spoke, vaguely outlining what he saw in the tracks. Valena sighed and spoke, her voice always cool and conversational. "Your bigotry blinds you, cow. As it does every Horde and every Alliance. Our fight on this continent isn't with each other; we have Kalimdor and the Eastern Kingdoms to squabble over to our hearts contents. No, our true enemy is the Dark Prince. The Lich King. The Vanguard should have aided the Alliance."

The big tauren snorted. "You asked me what happened here, not what I thought of it." Gandin shook his head, his black mane ruffling like a horse's. "And just where _will_ we draw the line, Blood Elf? Where will they? Shall we wait for them to turn and attack the Vaguard? Would you trust the word of a human? And who would command? Who could be trusted to command? The humans are a deceitful race never to be trusted, and any who follow under their honourless banner deserve the same death they do." Valena turned and studied her companion of many years. Over eleven feet tall, dark fur grew patchy over old scars. Bright blue eyes gazed at her over a protruding snout, his massive head sitting low from his shoulders. He was large even among the tauren, a hulking mass of unyielding muscles and strength. The hair that grew from the top of his head to the nape of his neck was course and pitch black, and his horns were onyx, curling up and outward. His tail swished back and forth absentmindedly, tipped with a tuft of grey course hair. Clad in mail and plate he appeared even larger and was undeniably intimidating. She could admit to herself that had Valena not known him she might have been apprehensive of her friend.

"We've done it before." She said softly to herself, her eyes returning to their gruesome search. A minute passed, and then another, before she set her feet determinedly upon the path, directly through the bodies. Gandin was beside her as always, the ice groaning under his immense weight. Her eyes picked out the Horde soldiers on their own accord, fearful of finding a fallen she knew. Once she stopped at a male Blood Elf, half his face missing, a gaping and raw hole where it should have been. "Someone you knew?" Gandin asked flatly. To sounded cold, heartless. Inconsiderate and insensitive. But no one understood their peculiar friendship, and no one would ever recognize the out Gandin had given her. That she could turn to him and unleash her despair and grief in a firey rage against him, berate him for his indifferent words. "Would that make you jealous, Gandin? He's prettier than you are with only half a face."

Gandin grunted a laugh. "All you Blood Elves are pretty. Your males are disturbingly so. They strut around like proud birds, displaying their pretty feathers. This is not the nature of a true male." Valena gave an unladylike like snort and they continued their onerous walk, the icy fingers of Northrend crawling up her spine and clawing into her neck despite Gandin's heavy cloak. "Thud your chest some more, I don't think they can hear you in the next valley." Ahead there was movement; one of the human bodies had shifted. Again it moved, and a low whimpering accompanied it. Valena looked at the tauren warrior before speeding up, Fel eyes only for the pathetic human.

It was another man, ravaged inside his armor, blood seeping from every orifice. How he was still breathing was a miracle, let alone moving. She stopped before the nearly lifeless human, and her shadow fell across him. He looked up to see what obscured the light and begin yelling in the Common tongue. Bending low and slowly onto her hunches, Valena lowered her staff and held her fingers wide and apart, appearing unarmed. Her thigh muscles tensed, and her thin skirt -if it could be called that- only covered her most private areas, allowing the man's eyes to drink in much of her pale flesh. "We mean you no harm. Please, tell us what happened here."

The man started screaming again and tried a feeble knife swing. Valena grabbed her staff and jumped back on slipper feet even as she cast a poisonous spell on him. The man struggled, crawling toward her on his belly. He didn't make it more than two inches before the spell claimed him and the light faded from his eyes. Gandin snorted and shook his head again. "You're always the most dangerous when you're polite. For anyone who knows you and means you ill will, that's a fatal flaw." Valena turned to the warrior. "That's why I endure you, Gandin. Why else would I put up with your disgusting body odor and limited intelligence?"

A death grip tightened around her ankle, and Valena looked down to see a desiccated hand covered with ice holding her hostage. She yelped in surprise even as a large sword severed the offending appendage. Gandin pulled at his blade held fast in the ice, shield in his other hand. Looking around, they watched the true power of the Lich King come to life as the corpses stood up from the ground on shredded knees, bones popping and armour clanking. Heads limp, jaws slack, and eyes gazing at them in avid light, they surged forward as one. Gandin let out a bellow that challenged the heavens and ran forward, crashing into the thickest of them. 'Stupid, stupid tauren!'

Valena gasped and cast a shield quickly around the warrior and than herself. She slammed the butt end of her staff into the ground, and a quick flash enveloped the surrounding area. The spell decimated a few of the rambling carcasses, but many more filled the empty places their deaths left, and now all looked at her. "Gandin... I do not wish to alarm you, but I fear we may be in trouble." When there was no answer she turned, looking for her friend, panic rising in her throat as she searched for him and kept an eye on the advancing undead. "Gandin...?" He was no where to be seen.


	2. Chapter 2: Fallen Friends and Foes

_Disclaimer: This is a fanfiction, which clearly states the intent of my story. The concept belongs to Blizzard, and no copy right infringement in intended. In short, this is for fun =)_

_Note: Please feel free to review and thank you for reading._

Valena cursed and cast another spell, glowing green eyes wide, panic rising and threating to choke her. No matter where she turned, the dead surrounded her on all sides, and she could not find her bulky friend anywhere. She cast spell after spell with quickly - quicker than many could, and they were powerful spells. A narrow passage became clear as the bodies fell; a way to escape. The spells she was casting were not of her speciality, and the alignment contrast was taking a toll on her magic reserves. She charged through the clearing, a concentrated light appearing when a ghoul abruptly interfered, the spell cutting through the decayed being with ease. She ran as fast as she could, but burdened with Gandin's cloak it wasn't as fast as normal. Dead hands reached for, grasping at her minimal clothing, tangling in her hair, tearing at the bear-skin cloak.

Finally breaking free of the dead, she gulped the cold air and looked for Gandin. Still there was no sight of him. "No..." Valena felt terror clenching at her stomach muscles and her heart did a few flips. Suddenly there was a powerful explosion of sort, bodies flying far away as Gandin stood tall and proud, chest out and head thrown back, a deep howl ripping from his opened mouth. He was covered in coagulated and fresh blood alike. Valena smiled in relief and healed him quickly, then started to attack the masses that crowded him. "Run, Valena, there are too many. Run!"

Fear clawed down her throat when she heard to stark panic in Gandin's voice. "What? Don't be an idiot Gandin. You need me." She continued casting, apart from the crowd of undead that swarmed the proud tauren. Another roar came from the warrior, and even with all Valena's skills at healing, he was quickly running out of energy. She cursed and picked off as many undead as she could, but as soon as they fell others replaced them. This was unreal! How could the two of them hope to escape? She would not - could not - abandon Gandin. Valena cast spell after spell, and slowly, ever so slowly, the tide began to thin. There were considerably less ghouls then there had been, and the priest allowed herself a small sliver of hope. The tauren warrior was brutal in his destruction, obliterating any foes that stood before him, thick blood dripping from his hair and fur. She kept healing him and casting spells, already feeling the drain on her reserves and exhaustion seeping in.

Abruptly the sky darkened a sickly purple and green swirl. Valen felt an enormous pressure weight down on her, smothering her breath. Agony pounded in the confindes of her head and the Blood Elf doubled over and held her head in her hands, screaming at the endless, boundless pain that clawed at her mind. She fell to her knees, the pressure so vast she felt her skin split open, peeling back...

Like a sudden inhilation the pressure was _sucked _back, and then a heavy silence that slowly filtered through the haze she was in. Valena looked around and found all the ghouls fallen; lifeless corpses one more. Searching through blearily eyes she saw Gandin, tall and panting, his breath forming into clouds and seemingly unaffected by the strange phenomon. Steam rose from his shoulders and head, and from several wounds she had yet to heal. Blood dripped steadily from his body to paint the snow around him, spurred on by his furiously pumping heart.

Another stood before the tauren, white dead eyes intent on the warrior. It might have once been human, but whatever corrupt power animated it had enlarged it. A skull of some unknown animal that resembled a goat was placed on a head full of long, ash blonde hair. Clad in blue robes and skulls, it's smile was full of scorn, and it was clapping contemptuously. "Well done. Quite an impressive display, considering you have had admittedly little experience in dealing with the Scourge." It's voice sounded like a snake slithering on skulls, soft and rasping, scaled skin whispering against bone. Valena blinked and tried desperately to clear the fog that held her, her head still dully thudding. "Would I say it's enough to warrant the attention of the Lich King personally? Does a god praise an ant? Ah, but his will cannot be denied, and I am called to harvest again."

Before she could so much as move, a black and violet ethereal coil crackling with dark energies lashed out and took hold of Gandin. It snapped back toward the necromancer with the tauren in it's grasp, and in one quick motion it lunged forward, a blackened sword piercing through Gandin's heart. Valena heard herself cry out in shock, and her own heart felt the piercing blow. The massive tauren went slack immediately, impaled on that onyx steel. Valena pulled herself to her feet, and started to run, but strong hands pulled her back and held fast to her. She cursed loudly, a string of impressive profanties tumbling from her mouth as the strong hands pulled her away. The necromancer looked at her then, and she felt cold in it's gaze. Hate greater than she could bare grew solid in her abdomen. It smiled smugly and spoke, Gandin's weight in no way encumbering the creature. "Death is the ultimate epitome and mortal kinds greatest destiny, Blood Elf. In due time you will understand that." With those words the tremedous pressure returned, hitting the priest's head like a blacksmith's hammer. When the blackness receded from the Blood Elf's sight, the necromancer and Gandin were no more.

The strong hands released her, and she turned to see Argent Crusade soldiers fanning around her, weapons brandished though the soldiers staggered with the force of the necromancer's departure.


	3. Chapter 3: The Argent Crusade

_Disclaimer: This is a fanfiction, which clearly states the intent of my story. The concept belongs to Blizzard, and no copy right infringement in intended. In short, this is for fun =)_

_Note: Please feel free to review and thank you for reading._

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><p>The soldiers returned weapons to scabbards once the threat of the necromancer was gone without a doubt. Valena shoved the butt of her staff into the snow and stood, Gandin's cloak still around her. She felt like she was missing her shadow; Gandin had always been at her side, a constant friend and fighter, ever challenging her to try harder. She felt hollowed, a sense of loss so profound it threatening to tear her apart. Her abdomen spasm painfully, emotions roiling through her so quickly she couldn't even name them all.<p>

In her sudden emotional turmoil she rounded on the person responsible for holding her back - the person responsible for Gandin's death - jade eyes luminous with rage. It had been a male Blood Elf, proud in bearing. His own Fel eyes met hers, and widened in surprised at the thunderhead he came face to face with. He looked like many of their race, pale skin and golden, long hair tied neatly together. A trimmed goatee around his lips and chin was a darker blonde and he had broad shoulders and an expansive chest - the body of a swordsman. Clad in the Argent's armour and the tabard that with the silver-grey and iron black colours of the Argent Crusade. The Blood Elf simply gawked at her. "You cowards. You thrice-damned cowards!" She swore, her haughty gaze taking in all the Crusaders. She counted their heads quickly. 'Twelve? There are twelve and they still let you die?' Her anger boiled over, turning into something terrible. Something cold. Valena turned to the male Blood Elf, her body tense. "You could have helped him. Why didn't you help him? Why did you hold me back?"

Valena watched the other Crusaders draw closer to their companion as if they were unconsciously offering him support. Belatedly she realized how strange it would be to them, finding an unknown female Blood Elf in the depths of Northrend as her companion - another wave of pain blossomed in her as she thought of Gandin - is carried off by some Scourge lord. The male Blood Elf took a step back in the face of her temper and spread his hands wide in explanation. "My Lady, that was Gothik the Harvester. You would have stood no chance against that foe. Honestly, I'm surprised he spared us." Her eyes flared momentarily and returned to their icy regard. Valena bared her teeth in a sweet smile and thought about the best way to kill this cocky Blood Elf.

"Valena, it seems we meet again. I'm surprised to find you here, and even more surprised to find my Crusaders out past our boundaries." A voice said from behind her, and Valena turned to find Tirion Fordring dismounting from a beautiful white horse and lead the steed over to the distraught Blood Elf and his soldiers. The priestess studied him, the dangerous smile dropping from her face quickly. From her peripheral she saw the Blood Elf's eyes widen in recognition of her name. _'Good,'_ she thought. "Where is Gandin? I was beginning to think you two were sewed together." The formidable man asked curiously. Valena scoffed and crossed her slender arms across her chest, staff held in the crook of her arm. "Last I saw he was impaled on the Harvester's sword. And your sub par troop held me captive as I watched the great brainless wonder go and get himself killed." She gestured angrily toward the male Blood Elf that had earned her ire, though her tone remained frigid.

Tirion's brows rose and he looked at the Blood Elf she was pointing to. "Kalendor was only concerned with your protection, my Lady. Surely you can understand that. Words can not express the sorrow I feel upon hearing this news of Gandin Spirit. The Harvester, you said? Gothik the Harvester?" Valena nodded coolly, looking at the Blood Elf -Kalendor- with glowing green eyes that held terrible promises. "This news is unsettling. My Lady, you are welcomed to our camp, as always. Please, take my mount and return there with all haste. There are warmer clothing and provisions there. I expect peace while you are among the Argent Crusade." Inclining her head slightly was the Commander's only thanks as the priestess retrieved the reins from his hands. She sheathed her staff in the loops tied behind her back and mounted in one quick motion. Incredibly, despite the minimal clothing that she wore, nothing private showed, although the fabric robe up even higher as she settled herself in the saddle. Valena turned the horse around and kicked it into a chanter, aware that the horse knew the icy terrain better than most.

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><p>Kalendor watched the priest go, a little awestruck. He had heard some of the tales of Valena Sunblinder and Gandin Spirit, but not much gossip found it's way from the Horde to the Argent Crusade. He had expected someone older, maybe a little more wise and world weary than this hot and cold Blood Elf. She was so unusual, completely unexpected, both in attitude and appearance. She seemed to contain no colour pigmentation aside from her jade eyes. Her hair was a shimmering white and her skin like freshly fallen snow. Blood Elves varied golden tans to olive skin tones to extremely fair, true, but they weren't nearly as white as her. She looked like a walking marble statue. And her presence was like a loadstone, drawing the eye to her whether she was aware of it or not. It helped that she wore robes that left little to the imagination and bore more skin than was wise in this harsh climate. He held her retreating form in his sights, hair and cloak flying in the wind, until Tirion called his attention.<p>

"Kalendor Swiftwind, report." Kalendor snapped to attention and saluted quickly, back straight and head high. "We were patrolling the northern pickets when we heard the sound of battle outside our borders. I order the patrol to investigate, despite our explicit instructions to stay within our confines. We came late to the fray, while Gothik the Harvester spoke with a male tauren. The necromancer then used his power and slew the warrior. I seen the young Lady watching, and caught her as she made to intrude." He lowered his gauntlet hand to his side. "That is Valena Sunblinder?" He asked cautiously. His commander nodded absently, thinking over what Kalendor said.

"Who is she?" Dravin asked, Kalendor's second. As a human he would have heard less of Gandin and Valena than Kalendor. "Her and Gandin are known among the Horde, recognized as heroes. Infamous among the Alliance, and only by those in power. They aren't enrolled in the military; rather they work like the Warchief's eyes and ears, sword and shield." Kalendor said. "They also say she's as cold as the depths of Icecrown Citadel, and as unfeeling as Arthas' frozen heart. But than again Gandin was supposedly fifteen feet tall and half again the size he was." Kalendor shrugged dismissively.

"I imagine to his enemies he seemed like a mountain crashing down on them." Tirion commented, and Kalendor cleared his throat, embarrassed. The Commander rubbed his chin, Ashbringer's hilt jutting out from behind his shoulder. "More importantly - what was said between Gandin and Gothik? Why did the necromancer spare you?"

The young Argent Crusade officer thought back to the conversation. "That he should be honoured that the Lich King took an interest in him, more or less." Tirion looked unaffected by the news, but the wrinkles around his eyes deepened. "He is a formidable fighter. All of my dealings with the two have always been amicable, but I have seen the strength of Gandin's sword arm and the power of Valena's spells.

"As long as anyone has known them, they have been together." Tirion continued, a sad expression on his face. "I imagine Valena feels like she's missing half of her body. Gandin was a spectacular fighter, a powerful warrior who never yield in the face of opposition. A strong duo, and now there is only one." The Commander heaved a great sigh, and addressed the six Crusaders around him. "Not a word of Gandin's death leaves here, understood? This unfortunate news would affect even the Alliance. Dismissed."

Kalendor was surprised that the Commander neglected to call him down on his blatant disregard of orders. It was only until the rest of his squad mounted, and he had one foot in his stirrup, when Tirion called to him. The Blood Elf's heart skipped a beat and he made his way over to the Commander. Tirion was studying the area that Kalendor had gestured to while he reported, his broad back to the rest, the great sword Ashbringer facing them. "Yes, my Lord Commander?" Tirion didn't even look at his officer, his eyes flicking between the new bodies and the old ones. "I have my suspicions on the Lich King's intent with Gandin, and if they prove to be correct we'll have a dangerous foe. And now that Valena no longer has him, she's vulnerable and likely feeling alone. You're assigned to Lady Valena's side until stated otherwise."

Kalendor gaped at his Commander. "Sir, with all due respect, are you trying to get me killed? She wants me dead!" Tirion looked at the Blood Elf for the first time since the start of their private conversation, and the remorse in the older man's eyes hit the Blood Elf like a horse kick. "She'll want revenge, Kal. She'll want retribution. And she reckless, which means she'll hunt down every plague bringer, necrofiend, and necromancer until she finds Gothik. She's more important to us than what her death would warrant. A direct line to the Warchief." His face hardened, his voice taking on the tone of a chastising officer. "You deliberately violated orders and passed our borders. As the commanding officer of this team, it is your responsibility to ensure that you stick to protocol, and that everyone gets back relatively unscathed. You were lucky this time, but what if Gothik didn't ignore you? Eight would be dead, rather than two. If you must, consider it your penance for disregarding orders. Dismissed."

The Blood Elf felt all the colour drain from his handsome face. He stood there for a few moments longer, than returned to his mount when it became clear Tirion had no more to say on the matter. He mounted his armoured horse and the Argent Crusaders set a steady pace that would take them to their base of operations in a half an hour or so.

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><p>Tirion heard the thudding hooves on the packed snow, although they were already far from his thoughts. As the sound started to fade the Argent Commander walked through the fallen bodies. He bent low on his hunches and felt the ground with a gauntlet hand. "Goodbye, my friend. May we never meet again." He fervently hoped that they wouldn't.<p> 


	4. Chapter 4: Order

_Disclaimer: I own nothing except the following characters; Valena Sunblinder, Kalendor Swiftwind. No copyright infringement intended._

Valena rode into the Argent Vanguard after leaving Tirion and his Crusaders, the stallion slowing his impressive speed. She jumped out of the saddle lithely when the beast stopped completely and surveyed her surroundings. The camp was laid out on tiers following the natural slope of the land. At the topmost ledge -of what she could see- was a canvas stretched taunt and small figures underneath and around it. One stood out among the others, much taller and cowled. She stared at the person for a few moments more before continuing on her way.

She found the tents easily enough, after passing by the large proto-drakes - Argent Skytalons, they were called - and asking the keeper Penumbris where she might find them. She opened the flap of one and stepped in, the wind immediately buffered by the canvas sides. The furniture was plain and simple, a folding table large enough to hold a plate and little else had a shuttered lamp on it, lighting up the small tent with a faint flame. Another lamp swung slightly from above, hanging from the wooden beams that held the tent up. On a small cot there was a folded pile of fur-lined clothing, stockings, and tucked under the bed was a sturdy pair of leather boots. Valena held up the thick shirt experimentally and suppressed a sigh.

Stripping off her robes, she was surprised to find how cold her skin was to the touch. Shivering, she slipped into the clothing laid out, discovering that the shirt was too tight in the chest, to loose in the abdomen, and the pants didn't fit properly, pulling across her hips tightly. _'Gandin would have never fit in any of this.'_ She thought and laughed at the image of the tauren attempting to pull on such small clothing, but the sound quickly died. She had walked among enough battlefields to recognize shock; all too often she saw it in the eyes of the survivors, the vaunted 'victors'. Valena ran her fingers through the fur of Gandin's cloak that sat on the cot, remembering his last words. She knew what was to come, but the shock would serve as a barricade for now. "I _will _avenge you, old friend. Seems you can't even die right." She reclaimed the cloak and fastened it around her shoulders, leaving the tent with her discarded clothes thrown forgotten on the ground.

Standing by the entrance she had came in from, Valena waited for Tirion to return. The time passed slowly, and the Blood Elf grew restless, pacing back and forth and irritable. When the patrolling Crusaders finally showed up -Kalendor leading them- Valena stilled and watched the progression pass by, barely taking note of her. The only one who stopped was Kalendor. He dismounted and a woman came and lead the exhausted horse away by the bridle. Valena did not miss the admiring gaze the horse woman shot at Kalendor. The Blood Elf approached her slowly at first, and when what he was apparently expecting to happen didn't, he came face to face with her.

"I'm sorry about your... friend, Lady Valena." He started, looking uncomfortable. She_ tsked_ and replied in a sharp voice. "Adding insult to injury? You kept me from saving him and now you give me false sympathy. Save your breath, I'll hear none of it." Kalendor cleared his throat and shifted his weight. He was definitely anxious about something. "Forgive me, my Lady." He paused, as if grasping for something else to say, and took in her new attire. "It seems you found some.. uh, clothes more suited to Northrend's climate." She rolled her eyes; why was he doing this to her? He was just embarrassing himself and pestering her. "Yes, I embarked on a great quest, searched high and low, to the seven corners of the world, and finally, finally I have found them! A great triumph for all."

For the first time Kalendor looked irritated, his brows knotted together and his Fel eyes hardened. "Look, I'm just trying to be nice! Do you bite off everyone's head, or just people who save your life? Is this what it's going to be like from now on?" He looked shocked and snapped his mouth with an audible click, eyes wide. "Wait, what? What's that suppose to mean?" The priestess asked. Just as she said that a shadow fell across them momentarily, and they both looked up to find a Skytalon flying overhead. Kalendor spoke hastily; "I wonder who that is? Let's go find out." And without waiting for her respond he started off after the drake. Valena glanced back out to where Tirion would be before following the Argent officer.

The rider dismounted onto the top tier, jumping from the drake's back as it hovered. The Skytalon beat it's powerful wings and descended, landing beside Penumbris. Valena followed behind Kalendor, who was jogging up the ramps that lead to the top ledge. Crusaders called out to him in greeting, and he replied back quickly, never breaking stride. Gandin's cloak was a hindrance for the priest, slowing her down and by extension Kalendor when he realized she was falling behind. Valena refused to leave the too big cloak however, feeling like she would be abandoning Gandin again. An irrational thought, she knew, and yet she couldn't rid herself of it.

They finally made it to the top, Valena panting from the effort the bear-skin cloak demanded. "Why don't you take off the cloak now? You're dressed warmly enough, right?" Kalendor asked, not even breathing hard. The priestess just stared at him, and he took in the length and the extra fabric before realizing that it wasn't made for her. A blush crept up into his cheeks, and he cast his eyes down. "I'm.. sorry. It seems everything I say-" Valena cut in. "Is moronic? I couldn't agree with you more." She squared her dainty shoulders and held her chin high as she walked into the station.

The taller figure she had seen earlier was what caught her eyes first. He was easily eight feet, if not more, imposing in his height and presence. Cowled, his features were lost in the shadows save for glowing blue eyes. Valena stopped when those effulgent orbs glanced at her briefly, her blood turning cold. _'Death Knight, the fallen of both the Horde and the Alliance, turned to Scourge. Arthas' true warriors, his mockery of our heros.' _She thought, alarmed to find the Scourge solider here. She had heard of what happened at Light's Hope Chapel and the forming of the Ebon Blade, but the knowing didn't compare to seeing one immediately in front of her. A Death Knight, once a thrall for the Lich King. At least she assumed it was a Death Knight; there were no other beings that she could think of with glowing blue eyes. Save the High Elves, but it was more than unlikely that this tall being was one of them. Her grip on the staff tightened.

Tirion was second, his back to them. He was under the canvas roof, studying over a table intently. Valena stepped forward and cleared her throat delicately. "So where can I find Gothik?" The Ebon Watcher shifted his gaze to her once more at that. Without turning Tirion beckoned her over to him, the man still focused on the map. When she came beside him she noted what he held his attention so; a detailed map of Northrend was spread across the table, weighted down by chunks of rock. He pointed to a place named 'Valley of Echos' in the section labeled 'Icecrown'. He replied in a even tone, though he didn't answer her question. "We're here, stationed in the heart of Northrend and Arthas' citadel. Crusaders have been lost in the constant struggle against the Scourge, but rather than just killing them the spiders cocoon them in webs, doing Light knows what to them."

The Ebon Watcher spoke up for the first time, and the double echo in his voice confirmed her suspicions. "It is unpleasant what takes place in those webs. It's a process that takes time. The poison that incapacitate the victim begins to deteriorate his or her's body. Organ failure, skin decay, and the blood thickens and slows. The cocoon accelerates the decay and muffles the screams. I was told it was very painful, but it makes for more obedient Scourge ghouls once the process is complete." Valena involuntarily flinched at the description, and Kalendor's face turned wan. Tirion made a fist, disgust plainly in his expression. "Honourless."

The Watcher turned his azure eyes on the Argent Commander. "As I have said before, there is no honour among the Scourge. They deploy tactics that will wear down your moral, your spirit, and then they give you a fate worse then death." Tirion was shaking his head. "No, Mograine, we will not talk of this now." The Commander turned to the priest. "We are pushed on all sides, but as you've seen we are not without our defenses. Lady Valena, you seek to right a wrong, and that is commendable. But you cannot take down Gothik alone, nor Arthas." Valena was staring at the Ebon Watcher. "Darion Mograine? The Darion Morgraine." When she spoke, it was to the Death Knight that held her attention. "One day, Darion, I would hear your story."

Mograine turned to her, his luminous eyes unblinking. "Should I chose to tell it, Blood Elf." She gave him a secret smile and looked to the Commander. "I will stop at nothing to avenge Gandin, Commander. Neither you nor the Scourge will stand in my way. Gothik will die." Her eyes flared momentarily as her anger came to a head, the staff in her hand creaked with the force she using. Tirion simply nodded. "I was hoping you would say something like that. I have no intentions of stopping you. An Alliance emissary is waiting down below for an audience. I would be much obliged if you would represent the Horde at this meeting." Valena blinked in surprised. _'Well, this is something I wasn't expecting.'_


	5. Chapter 5: Making Friends

_Disclaimer: I own nothing except the following characters; Valena Sunblinder, Kalendor Swiftwind, Navistar Hemlin. No copyright infringement intended._

Valena followed Tirion down the ramp, Kalendor only a step behind her. Mentally sighing, she shadowed the Commander to the second tier, where a large command tent had been quickly erected. Tirion held the flap aside for her, and she walked into surprising warmth. There was a large hole cut out in the center of the canvas ceiling to allow the smoke from the fire burning in the middle to escape. The air smelled nostalgically of burning wood, and Valena remembered the many nights she and Gandin had shared around a camp fire. There was a large table that had a much bigger map on it, as well as another table set for conferences. It was there that the human emissary was seated.

The man had dark hair and brown eyes, a sharp nose and lips that curved up slightly, as if he laughed a lot. His eyes widened at seeing the Blood Elf walk in, and he stood up, his plate armour clanking together. Common words erupted from his mouth in an angry tone, which caused Valena to stop and blink at him. Kalendor was a step behind her, Tirion already striding across the frozen ground to soothe the man. He motioned his hands in calming gestures and replied back in Common. The priestess followed after him, and took a seat from across the man. The human took a seat and stared at her with barely restrained hate in his eyes. She simply stared back. After they both had taken their places Tirion sat at the head of the table and clasped his hands.

"Lady Valena, this is Lord Navistar Hemlin. He's was unaware any Horde would be present." The Blood Elf shrugged and replied coolly. "He's an uncouth human, what do I care? Proceed." Tirion stared at her, and she felt her cheeks heat. Few people could make her feel shamed for her words, and Tirion Fordring was a man of such honour and civil graces that he was one of them. The Commander kept his steady gaze on her for a few moments more before turning to the emissary. They had a brief exchange, and by the tone they were addressing the usually pleasantries. Then Navistar's voice took on a brisk, hard edge, and his gaze snaked to Valena before he realized it, and pulled away hastily when he did. Tirion listened quietly before translating for the Blood Elf. "He is unsure of the Horde numbers on Northrend." Valena laughed, the sound like soft bells. "What are the numbers of Alliance here?" Was her reply, and Tirion shook his head.

"You fight your battle as if it means something, and to you it very well might. What will you fight over when the Scourge have devoured the land? And every one of your fighters are ghouls, or Death Knights, all forced to serve the Lich King?" Tirion rubbed at his temples, his exhaustion evident. _'A lone man standing in the eye of a virulent storm,' _ Valena thought, realizing that Tirion's honour would never have him abandon his fight. And it would eventually kill him.

The Blood Elf turned to the emissary and spoke softly, a ghost of a smile on her full lips. "How fares your king, my Lord?" She asked in Common, much to the surprise of those in the room. Surprise turned to outrage on Navistar's face. "How dare you! Your green-skinned overlords took him, tortured him, forced him to commit atrocious acts. You sit here so smugly, thinking you broke him. But King Varian is strong, and you've only cemented his hate for you pitiful Horde. You are a taint on the world, demonic orcs and magic-addicted elves. Undead Scourge cast outs and cowardly trolls. An evil, bloody blight that will be purified."

Valena stared down the man. "So you're king was subjugated and abused at the hands of the Horde. Perhaps if you weep some more you'll look more like the little girl you're acting as. Thrall was but a child when he was thrown into the arena and beaten everyday. You're vaunted heros saved an orc baby only to throw him to the wolves, and yet you would pass judgement on us when we do the same? You would call us evil, while you damn yourself with your own words. You are nothing but a hypocrite, Navistar."

Navistar roared -he actually _roared_- and shot up out of his chair, his sword out of it's scabbard before she knew it and leveled at her face less with less than three inches to spare. If she sneezed she would impale herself head first onto his blade. _'Oh look here, I think I've hit a nerve. A shame they lived with everyday; Thrall's adoption and treatment. Likely they're ashamed he lived.' _Valena forced herself to halycon, her mannerism nonchalant although she was completely unaware that Kalendor had drawn his own sword. The Crusader was tensed, a tightly coiled spring ready to explode forth should Navistar move to harm Valena. "Peace within the Vanguard's camp, or you will be punished." Tirion said tightly, eyes boring daggers into Navistar. The emissary struggled with his rage, the conflict plain on his face, before sheathing his blade and taking his seat. Tirion turned to her. "Lady Valena, you taunt him. Do not bait him so. Is this how you want to represent the Horde? Petty and spiteful?" She blushed a second time, a light pink dusting her otherwise white cheeks.

"You hold onto your grudges like a set of chains you refuse to cast away. The rip your factions have created between each other has become infested and sick. It is time that you band together as brothers in arms as you had done years ago." Valena sighed wearily. _'Is this not similar to what I had said to Gandin?'_ She realized she was hurting her own cause, but the venom-infused words seem to drip uncontrollable from her mouth. At the thought of Gandin it felt as if a hand reached into her chest and squeezed her heart. She was reluctant to admit it, but she still half expected him to be standing by her side only to find Kalendor there. Valena turned her gaze over to the Argent officer, who was just sheathing his sword. Suddenly it felt too hot in the command tent; she felt sweat break out under her fur-lined shirt.

"I met a human man before I came here." She started, thinking back the man in the dead battlefield, bleeding out his last. It helped to center her thoughts. _'Our prejudices are our deaths, but it is not easy letting go of a war that has been fought for so long. It is not easy to call foes friends.'_ Valena thought, her eyes suddenly weighty as they studied the man she addressed. "He was a step from death's door and I could have easily saved him. He rejected my help and cursed me to burn in hell for all eternity - your man would have rather died than accept my aid."

Overwhelmed with the abrupt need to be outside and in the cold, the priestess stood. She forced her trembling legs to still and composed herself, her face cold. "Despite what you think, Lord Navistar, Warchief Thrall is a wise leader, and he believes there is honour among the Alliance. Can you say the same of Varian? Does your king love his people more than his hate?"

Valena looked one last time at Tirion before sauntering to the exist, willing the shaking in her legs to stop. She heard not a word from either man as she left.

Once outside she breathed in the painfully cold air, burning her nose and lungs. The wind picked up her hair and burned her cheeks. A whispered rasping sound from behind her made her turn, and Valena came face to face with Kalendor. "Do you need to follow me around like a lost puppy?" She growled and pivoted on her foot, walking away quickly, looking for the comforting isolated embrace of her tent. She heard Kalendor following after, thought thankfully he said nothing. There had been the strangest expression on his face, surprise mingled with regret and sorrow.

Finally she found her tent, or what she assumed to be her's; they all looked the same. Valena entered the tent with a snapped "Don't follow me!" thrown behind her to Kalendor. She stepped into the dimly lite confides and took in a shaking breath. Something cold bit at her cheek, and she lifted her hand to feel what it was. A stream of ice from her eye to her lip had formed, and it was than that she realized she was crying. Her brief journey from the command tent to her own had frozen her tears on her face. All at once Kalendor's expression made sense.


	6. Chapter 6: To Fall so Far

_Disclaimer: I own nothing except the following characters; Valena Sunblinder, Kalendor Swiftwind, Navistar Hemlin. No copyright infringement intended._

His eyes fluttered open to meet a murky brown sky, roiling red clouds flashing brighter with the lightning that forked between them. There was only silence that greeted him, not even a breeze to ruffle the leaves of trees. Were there trees? He wasn't sure; from his position on his back and looking up, he could only see that sickly sky. The quiet was louder than anything he had ever heard, and in that utter stillness an alarming revelation had him break out in a cold sweat and fumble numb fingers around his neck. He had no heartbeat.'

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><p>Valena stood on top of a large flat disc situated on the ground. It had arcane ruins scrawled around it in a vibrant purple that glowed in the otherwise gray metal. The Astral Projector's twin was with Thrall, whom she was trying to contact now. It hummed, the vibrations traveling from her feet up so even her teeth rattled although it was not uncomfortable. Ethereal tendrils snaked around her, stretching across time and distance to mimic her image. She had woken up before the sun had risen, curled into a tight ball, her eyes red-rimmed and sore. She had barely slept the night, and grief now knawed at her presistently. She had roused herself out of the bed, though she desperately wanted to craw beneath the blankets. She had no more tears to shed, but that didn't stop the ache.<p>

Instead, the Blood Elf warmed some ice on a localized fire, removing it so it the water was still cool and washed her face, the cold water clearing her mind some. She then changed into the spare clothing and left the tent to find Kalendor still standing outside.

The Projector's lights increased in speed, but there was still no answer on the other side. Valena allowed herself to slip into the memory of their conversation when she found him. _"Where you out here all night?" She had asked. "No, it's too cold at night to be out for long periods. I went to my own tent. I've been here since the sun rise. Are you well?" Kalendor replied, and a look of shame crossed his features. That struck her as odd; that he would be waiting outside her tent. "I'm fine. Why are you here?" She asked, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. "My orders, Lady Valena, are to accompany you until stated otherwise." For a reason she could not understand she felt a pang of regret and disappointment at that. "I see. So Tirion sent his pup to guard me?" She had turned and walked away from him, but he had followed, and she could hear the aggravation in his voice. "I am no 'pup'. I trained with the Blood Knights prior to the prince's treachery, and was recruited to the Argent Dawn when it first formed. I've earned my rank in both skill and diplomatic graces." Valena rolled her eyes. "Oh yes, take pride in your former corrupted order; the Blood Knights were a self-serving order who thrived on elitism and elimination." There was no respond, and she looked over her shoulder to find a mix of anger and shame on his face._

"Throm-Ka, Valena." Thrall's deep, gravelly voice seemed to echo all around her and sent her heart racing at the sudden shock of it. Valena squared her shoulders; though she could not see them, they could see her phantom image. "Sinu a'manore, Warchief. We haven't talked in some time. How fares the Horde?" Thrall's voice was proud and strong in reply. "Well enough. Garrosh and his force is in the stronghold Warsong Hold, in Boreal Tundra. There is unrest in the Undercity, though Sylvanas claims it is nothing. What are you doing in Northrend? Last I heard you and Gandin were en route to the Maelstrom." Valena's respond was monotone. "Well, Gandin thought it was a good idea to give his Dimensional Ripper a try, despite the fact that he hasn't calibrated it properly in ages. And now he's dead, because he couldn't be bothered to just take the boat." Thrall's shocked tone answered. "Gandin Spirit is dead?" She nodded and continued. "I'm with the Argent Vanguard in Icecrown, Warchief, acting as a representative of the Horde. They wish to unite us and the Alliance against the Scourge... Against Arthas."

There was silence on the other end that lasted a full minute. Valena was beginning to think that the Projector had cut out when Thrall replied. "An Emissary now, are you Valena? I must say that you are not the diplomatic type, but you'll have to do for now. Garrosh will not like it." Valena smiled, and it could be heard in her voice. "Of course not. How fortunate that he's away now." Thrall sighed, and she could almost see him rubbing at his temples. "I've almost forgotten the animosity you have with Garrosh." The Blood Elf clicked her tongue in disapproval. "Warchief, it is a mutual dislike, do not lay it all at my feet. I did not contact you to speak of that pigheaded orc, however. Warchief, what are your orders?"

"We will meet with the Alliance king in a fortnight. Until that time, you are dispatched as an acting Emissary of the Horde, and will report back to me. It would be in our interest to watch the Argent Crusade. Listen and do as you're bid. Farewell until than, Valena." His tone spoke volumes of his displeasure at her verbally abusing Garrosh. Valena saluted him, a smile gracing her lips. "Shorel'aran, Warchief." The violet phantom fingers dissipated, and the brightly glowing ruins dimmed down to a comfortable light. Valena stepped off the platform, ignoring Kalendor's offered hand. "You heard him. Run off pup, and tell your master that the Warchief has agreed to meet." Kalendor lowered his hand and bore daggers at her before pivoting on his foot and making his way to the command tent.

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><p>Kalendor stocked into the large tent, where a lone Tirion sat, fingering the hilt of Ashbringer. The beautiful priest was as cold as ice and as spiteful as they came, spiting acid at every chance. The paladin had been remorseful about what had transpired yesterday, and his heart went out to Valena when he seen her, eyes full of tears and the torrent of pain that darkened the Fel power. But it was hard to be sympathetic when she took jabs at him whenever he spoke and belittled his accomplishments.<p>

Tirion's gaze raised, and the dazed look left his eyes as he focused on the Blood Elf. Tirion Fordring was a charismatic man, who's passion was only rivaled by his honour, and a man strong enough in character to pull an impetuous Blood Knight from his lofty, arrogant position and recruit him into the serving Argent Crusade. Now that same man seemed bombarded on all sides, a lone island in a sea of storms. And still he preserved. Kalendor's respect for his human commander only grew more with each passing day.

"Kalendor, what news from Thrall?" The Blood Elf stopped and saluted a few feet away from the armoured Tirion. "He has agreed to meet in two week's time, Lord Commander. Sir, I humbly request that you revoke my orders and reassign me; I request to leave Lady Valena's side." Tirion was already shaking his head, a small smile on his face. "Why?" Kalendor's brows furrowed, and he couldn't quite rid the defensive tone in his voice. "She is wholly unpleasant, Commander. And she has no respect for me or for the Argent Crusade. It is insulting to be by her ungrateful side."

The human's gaze looked through the Blood Elf as if he saw memories come to life. "They bickered like brother and sister, and often many thought they would come to blows. But their's was strange relationship, and it seemed the ruder they were with each other, the more they loved. Valena's rough tongue is a sign of affection." Kalendor's eyes widened. "Really?" Tirion focused on his officer again and replied, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "That or she sincerely doesn't like you. Who knows with her? Request denied."

Kalendor threw his arms up in exasperation, his lips parted as he was about to curse everything undead when Lord Navistar walked in. The human noble gave Kalendor a strange look before bowing his head at Tirion. "It is done, I have spoken to King Varian and he has agreed to meet with Thrall as long as the Argent Crusade guarantees his protection." Tirion nodded. "Of course he will have our protection, as long as he bares in mind that it does not transcend should he be the first to attack." Navistar bobbed his head again, his reply terse. "Yes, Commander. He is aware."

"Good. Than I have a task for both you and Valena. You are to relay a message to the commanders in charge at the Wrathgates." Kalendor nearly groaned; by extension he would be there as well.


	7. Chapter 7: The Shattered Promise

_Disclaimer: I own nothing except the following characters; Valena Sunblinder, Kalendor Swiftwind, Navistar Hemlin. No copyright infringement is intended, and I am making no profit from this._

_Side Note: This is a spoiler for those who have yet to complete the series of quest chains that lead up to the cinematic in the game. If you're interested to watch it, youtube 'Wrathgate Wotlk Cinematic.'_

Every breath expelled formed white clouds that were in turn stolen by the wind. Valena stood in front of Darnosh Saurfang -better known as Saurfang the Younger- her arms wrapped around herself tightly, fingers digging into the fur of Gandina's cloak. The commander of the Kor'kron Vanguard was imposing in his plate armour, his leathery brown skin standing out against the silver. Though they had never met until now, both had heard enough of the other to studied in interest. He grunted and spoke; "So there will be no difference."

Valena shook her head and looked away, studying the two camps. On the left hand side was the Kor'kron Vanguard, Saurfang's units. On the right side was High Lord Bolvar Fordragon's forces, both camps placed strategically to overlook the massive Angrathar the Wrathgate. The edifice was a spectacle to behold; the architect was disturbing, the intricate shapes and sharp spires daunting. The gate itself was a series of massive steel teeth interconnected to prevent passage from any opposition, while allowing Scourge forces to enter the fray whenever needed. Even now Scourge foot soldiers; ghouls, gheist, and undead skeletons fought an array of Alliance and Horde soldiers. Saurfang had admitted that they were stretched thin on both sides, and the factions had come to a mutual understanding. They did not attack each other on the steps of the Wrathgate, it would be suicide to do so.

She heard the metallic scratching of metal rubbing together as Saurfang stepped beside her, likewise scanning their surroundings. "Two weeks time?" Valena had to suppress a sigh. "Are orcs truly this incompetent, or is it just you? Yes, yes, yes. Now stop asking me." The orc warrior grunted a laugh before a silence fell between them. Kalendor stepped forward and placed a gauntlet hand on her shoulder. She turned her head, the sharp words dying on her tongue when she noticed him pointing, and looked to see what caused this reaction in him. "It seems Fordragon has taken the field." He said calmly.

Valena's brows lifted as she watched the man with an enormous war sword in hand and a shield strapped to his other arm. Even from this distance she could hear cheers of the humans as moral rose expedientially. Beside her Saurfang shifted uneasily, armour clanking. "What is it you intend to do?" She asked without looking away. Bolvar entered the battle, along with an outfit of approximately twenty men. Without replying Saurfang left her side, making his way down the ramps and into camp. Kalendor stepped up beside her and crossed his arms over his impressive chest. "I wonder what Saurfang will do now that the Alliance commander has joined the fight?" A sneer contorted her beautiful features. "You don't say! Lord Fordragon? Really? We're all saved! Let's pack up and go home, this war's over." Her voice dripped with sarcasm, which in turned earned her a hard look.

They watched the battle as it intensified. Her eyes drifted on their own accord to Bolvar; his level of skill was impressive, and everywhere he turned enemies fell by the score. His presence empowered his forces around him, and they fought with a ferocity the Blood Elf didn't know the Alliance had. Slowly, the Scourge were being pushed back, the humans breaking through the largely disorganized lines of the desiccated. The wall of the gate emitted a deep rumble sounded, and the steel teeth of the gate opened slowly. A rough voice bellowed from within, and though she could not hear the words she could hear the evident rage in that yell. Blue-skinned Ymirjar appeared from the gaping maw, ice glinting in their hair and wicked axes in hand.

Valena advanced, nearing as close to the edge of the overlook as she could safely, speaking mostly to herself. "Hm, an interesting development." Kalendor grunted, his hand caressing the hilt of his sword. A commotion in their own camp had Valena look over to find Saurfang standing on stacked supply crates with his army fanned around him. He addressed them with a proud voice that commanded obedience. "If we cannot get in, then we will drive that coward out. Rise up, sons of the Horde! Glory and blood await us!" As one the Horde soldiers mounted on their wolf mounts, Saurfang the last. He pulled out a curved goat horn and brought it to his lips, blaring a challenging signal before the Kor'kron Vanguard moved.

The thunderous roar that followed as immeasurable paws hit the frozen ground caused a ripple to run through the Alliance forces. They turned to see the Horde descending their ramp. As the Vanguard neared the stairway littered with bodies, Saurfang's distinct voice could be heard. "Lok'tar ogar! For the Horde!" 'For the Horde' was echoed perfectly by the Vanguard soldiers following him. Valena scoffed a laugh. "Pack mentality." She said, but her Fel eyes glittered with excitement. Kalendor rolled his shoulders. "Should we join them, m'lady?" She shook her head. "So eager to fight, pup? Sometimes it pays to observe." Bolvar said something to Saurfang, and the Vanguard commander responded with a smirk, but over the howling wind their spoken words could not be heard.

One by one the Ymirjar's vaunted warriors fell until there was only Alliance and Horde forces left. They massed as one behind their two commanders, and Bolvar's deep voice echoed off the saronite structure. "Arthas! The blood of your father, of your people, demands justice. Come forth, coward, and answer for your crimes!" The steel teeth jerked, and chunks of rock and ice fell around the opening. Slowly, the gate opened. The people gathered before the gate and all watching from the camps seem to take a collective breath and hold it. A heartbeat pass, and then another, before the Lich King emerged, Frostmourne in hand and clad in tattered clothes and skull-adorned armour. Beside her Kalendor was shaking with barely restrained fury, the grip on his hilt white-knuckled. As Arthas walked, his height dwarfing the two commanders, he spoke in his double-echoed cavernous voice. "You speak of justice? Of cowardice? I will show you the justice of the grave, and the true meaning of fear." Skeleton figures and ghouls rose up, digging their way out of the ground to stand behind their lord. Valena could hardly swallow past the lump of fear in her throat.

Saurfang readied his axe. "Enough talk! Let it be finished!" Half way through his sentence he started off at a run, axe ready to strike. As he closed the distance Arthas remained impassive, and it was only until Saurfang swung his axe did the Lich King move, with as much effort as one would put into swatting a fly. Sword and axe met briefly, Saurfang's weapon shattered and the orc was sent back a few feet to sprawl on the ground before Arthas. Frostmourne dipped low to hover over the fallen orc, and an aeronautical blue mist was siphoned from his still warm body and into the sword. A gasp ran through the spectators, Valena one of them, and even Bolvar was taken aback. _'And so Dranosh Saurfang falls, his soul stolen... like so many before him.'_

In the reticence that followed Saurfang's death, Bolvar's voice rang out, the choler he felt palpable. "You will pay... for all the lives you've stolen. Traitor!" A ripple of uncertainty spread through the warriors - after all, they had just watched Saurfang the Younger fall. How could they have any hope of defeating him with only Bolvar? Arthas seemed to sense this; "Boldly stated, but there is nothing you can-" An explosion followed by a sick green miasma cut of the undead king, and it's interruption seemed to break the spell that captivated everyone near enough to witness. Valena tried to see were the barrel of volatile fumes had come from, but everywhere she looked she could not find the source. . Likewise, the Lich King scanned the surrounding ledges. "What?"

A dark, malicious laugh followed, the voice sounding as if it came from the grave. "Did you think we had forgotten? Did you think we had forgiven?" The sound of squeaking wheels rebounded off the valley walls as the dead voice went on. "Behold now! The terrible vengeance of the Forsaken!" More of the poisonous containers rain down, the area outside the gate was covered by a thin green smog, and on all sides soldiers began to fall. She watched in horror as none were spared by the plague, not living, not undead. None. "No!" Valena shouted, but it was already to late. Arthas had come to the conclusion, as well as any survivors. _'There is unrest in the Undercity, though Sylvanas claims it is nothing...' _Thrall's voice came from a hollowed depth somewhere unbidden. The Lich King's ethereal misty eyes stared at the Forsaken she herself could not see. "Sylvanas."

"Death to the Scourge! And death to the Living!" A strong hand clasped around her upper arm, and Kalendor was pulling her back. "Valena, we must leave! Now!" She shook her head. "What has happened, Kalendor? Why would those damn Forsaken choose this now?" It was the first time she had called him by his name, and though she did not notice it, he did. His heart flipped in his chest, even amongst all the inhumanity that had been unleashed. The screams of dying men and women forced him to focus on the situation. "I don't know why, but we need to get out of here." Tearing off a length of linen from his shirt, he wrapped it around her nose and mouth, veiling her from the deadly fumes. He quickly did repeated for himself. She looked back once more, and watched Arthas retreat back into the Wrathgate, shoulders slumped and coughing. "This.. isn't... over." She swung her gaze back to Kalendor.

Valena stared at Kalendor for a moment before dark figures in the sky appeared, growing larger by the second. The Argent Crusader noticed her gaze and followed it, once he found what held her attention he spoke softly, his voice muffled. "The red dragons. They're coming to burn away the plague..." Valena's Fel-green eyes widened at that. "Burn...? As in-" Kalendor interrupted, grabbing her hand. "Exactly. We need to leave now." The priestess nodded and struck the ground with the end of her staff. Suddenly they were lifted into the air. "Levitation. It helps to have a priest by your side." The Crusader simply nodded and pulled her closer, half-carrying, half-dragging her along. Together they jumped off the ledge.


	8. Chapter 8: Haunted

_Disclaimer: I own nothing except the following characters; Valena Sunblinder, Kalendor Swiftwind, Navistar Hemlin, Gandin Spirit. No copyright infringement is intended, and I am making no profit from this._

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><p>Panting with exertion Valena trailed behind Kalendor, his gauntlet hand grasping her slender one firmly, half pulling her along. Gandin's cloak; the burden she would carry willingly, pulled at her shoulders as it dragged in the snow. Her staff was strapped to her back once more and her hair flailed fitfully in the wind. Cheeks red with wind burn, she finally pulled her hand away, causing Kalendor to stop and look back. "We've been walking for hours. Don't you have a horn or something that will summon one of those Skytalons to us?" She crossed her arms, half in stubborn refusal to wander aimlessly, half in an attempt to warm herself. Kalendor mirrored her, though with his impressive plate pauldrons and all around larger frame and build, he pulled it off better. "No, we'll have to walk, your Highness." He turned around and continued.<p>

She fixed him with a glare and followed after him. "Do you even know where you're going?" She snapped. Over his shoulder he growled at her. "Yes, I do." A fat flake fell on her perfect nose, melting from her body heat. Another one drifted down immediately in front of her, and then another. She turned her gaze up, and watched as the white snow fell from a gray sky. Abruptly she bumped into something solid and would have fell back had Kalendor not caught her. Angrily she pulled away from his hold. "It's snow genius, no reason to stop." She snapped. He stared at her for a long moment before replying. "Do you feel that? The wind picked up."

Valena paused; it was true, the wind had become stronger. It's cold caressing fingers sent a chill deep into her bones, even with Gandin's cloak on and the warm fur-lined clothes. She shivered and looked up at the Argent Crusader, hugging herself tightly. "Do you think it's a blizzard?" She asked, but even as she questioned him he was shaking his head slowly, uncertainty clear on his handsome face. "Northrend's weather is unpredictable at best. We should find cover.." The priestess studied him, and her eyes narrowed when she realized he wasn't even shaking from the cold. Already her hands had gone numb, and a disturbing blue tint was colour the tips of her fingers. "I agree. Where to?"

Kalendor focused on Valena again, and looked around. "I know of a few places.. there should be a cave somewhere up ahead." He pointed north, toward the faint blue smear that was the mountain range, the spine that separate Dragon Blight from Icecrown. She stared at the outline, straining her eyes to see through the now steady veil of white that fell. Added weight on her shoulders had her turn to see Kalendor draping his own cloak on top of Gandin's. There was something profound in that, how it was so similar to Gandin's last act, and how Kalendor's now laid on top of the tauren's._ 'Will I just be a collector of the dead's cloaks? How many will I have by the time Arthas is destroyed? Before I find peace?' _She said nothing, and with her silence as his only answer Kalendor smiled hesitantly. "We should go." He set off, ignoring the powdered snow underfoot and the possibility of ice. She trailed after him, one hand tangled in the cold fur of Gandin's cloak, the other gripping the warm cloth of Kalendor's.

Staring at her feet, she marched a mantra in her mind. _'Left, right, left, right.' _The blue had grown and now tainted the back of both white hands. She thudded into Kalendor's back again, her anger springing up. She circled around him to see what had caused him to halt so suddenly. "Again? What did you find this time? Your foot..prints?" The last was said slowly and more out of reflex as she stared at a figure fifteen feet away in the heavy snow fall. Unseen by her, Kalendor stole a glance at the priestess, concern and grief deep in his Fel-powered eyes. He recognized who it was.

Valena stared, squinting through the snow to make out the person. It was mounted, the steed's warm breath forming white clouds from it's nose, light blinding hoofs and glowing blue eyes. Short horns protruded from it's large skull and two large curved ones similar to a goat's followed the natural shape of face, and ridged plate made up it's mane. She admitted reluctantly that she was avoiding the figure on top the disturbing steed. Haltingly her gaze rose to take in the Death Knight. He was huge, his mount almost dwarfed by the immense body that sat on top it. Incandescent blue eyes burned through the snow, steady on her face. A hood worn over his head shrouded his features in shadows, but there she had been with him for years, and death could not completely shed what was his own; his imposing presence, the proud way he carried himself. Valena took an involuntary step forward. "G-Gandin?"

The figure lowered his hood, and the face that stared back at her was familiar and foreign at the same time. Gone was the black fur, replaced with a chilling blue-white. His clear blue eyes that had always showed everything he felt were now veiled with a glow, she could not make out even a pupil. Valena went to take another step, but Kalendor's arm barred her way, his whispered voice breaking her focus. "Don't. He's not Gandin anymore." The reappearance of her old friend left her so overwhelmed that the normal fiery priestess simply conceded. Kalendor lowered his hand, his gaze returning to the threat that stood less than twenty feet away.

Gandin dismounted fluently and stroll towards them, death magnifying his intimidating nature. Valena's wide eyes refused to blink and the strain burned her. She couldn't swallow past the lump in her throat. The Death Knight stopped ten feet away and withdrew his broadsword. Valena could scarcely believe what she was seeing; never before had he drew his weapon on her. "Gandin, what do you think you are doing? Put your fool sword away and come here so I can smack some sense into you." She said, realizing she was striving for the norm and hoping against hope that there was still a shred of him inside, somewhere. In response Gandin lifted his blade and took another step.

Like a loosed arrow Kalendor raced to meet the Death Knight, powerful strides closing the distance between them, his own sword in hand and the point low. They meet, the violent impact creating coruscating lights that sparked through the veil of white that had steadily increased. The priestess was immobilized with her grief and worries, she couldn't move if she wanted to, couldn't speak if she was forced to. All she could do was watch the fight unfold, shivering violently from emotions and the cold. It became apparent that Kalendor could handle himself. The Crusader was giving it as good as he got, and their blades met only to part and meet a second later, indistinct blurs that had engaged in a beautiful and dangerous dance. Kalendor's blade dipped and raised, feigned and jabbed, every time to be thwarted by Gandin's own. Like-wise, any of the Death Knight's attacks were batted away like flies by Kalendor. She remained paralyzed, her legs were like the ice that surrounded them, hard and unyielding, ignoring her silent pleads.

The battle waged on, and eventually it was Kalendor, not Gandin, who was gaining the upper hand. Somewhere deep inside the last of her restraint broke, a dam that barred away the crushing pain since Gandin's fall. Where once there was a trickle now a raging river was set free, and instinctively she acted. A concentrated line of light appeared and slashed at Kalendor's back, buffered by his plate armour, and though it did not cut him, he felt the impact of the spell. Overthrown with the sudden jolt he staggered and narrowly missed Gandin's blade. The Crusader quickly bounced back and meet the Death Knigth's next attack, but she could hear him screaming over the howling wind. "Valena! Valena what the hell is wrong with you?" He continued attacking Gandin, and she kept casting spells on him. The Crusader was besieged on both sides.

One of her smite spells grazed him, parting the skin above his left eyebrow and releasing a gush of blood. A blow that close should have stunned him, but it seem to have the opposite affect. Kalendor fought with renewed vigor, a black rage contorting his handsome features into something bestial, the tendons in his neck standing out. A deep growl rolled in his chest and he hammered against Gandin viciously, his strikes barely comprehendible. Valena's spells stopped in the face of this inhuman anger, stilled to quiet silence. In a powerful and skillful feint Kalendor disarmed Gandin, and following through he ran his sword deep into the Death Knight's chest. A rattling gasp escaped Gandin, and as the massive tauren feel to his knees. In his last moments Gandin's gaze turned to her, and his hand reached for her before the glow dimmed from his eyes.

It had become too much, she would tell herself later. It was too much for one person to bare, watching a friend die, only to return and be killed again. And at the hands of the same Blood Elf that was ordered to stay by her side and protect her. Gandin's last gesture burned a hole in her, deep, dark and festering. Valena said nothing, simply ran forward, unclasping the two cloaks that had shielded her from the wind and let them fall behind her. She ran into Kalendor, who was just removing his sword from her friend's dead body. He was much larger than her, and hitting his plate armour was a world of pain, but her carried momentum took them both down. The powder snow jumped up in their abrupt fall to drift down a few inches away. "Why do you hate him so much? Why? You attacked him on impulse like some jealous child!" While she was saying this she rained blows down on him, and to her surprise -and shame- he did not defend himself.

She carried on a few moments longer before Kalendor caught her hands. It was the only movement he made since she tackled him, and the calm rage in his eyes met her burning orbs. "We need to talk." Was all he said, and in one quick motion he rolled her off of him and stood. Valena jumped to her feet, ignoring the cold and her shaking body. "I have nothing to say to you, craven. You jealous, inane, weak man!" The Crusader paused, staring at her, before picking her up and throwing her on his right shoulder like she was a feather. The priestess kicked and punched, fought and flailed, too angry to cast any spells. He took a step and the jolt made her teeth click together painfully. Another, and then another, and he was bending now. She realized belatedly that he was retrieving his sword. After that he walked a few more steps, to get what she wasn't sure.

They walked like that for some time, how long she couldn't say. An hour, two? He carried her, and the cold from his armour seeped into her skin. She had stopped fighting him long ago, simply focused on staying warm, wiggling her fingers and toes, rotating ankles and wrists, shifting every once in a while. The snow had stopped falling, but the bone-chilling freeze remained. The sky darkened, Northrend's stars lighting up the violent dome in an attempt to replace the daylight. Her view was behind them, facing away from Kalendor, and she contented herself with watching him make foot prints in the snow.

Suddenly a stone ceiling was above her head, and she cranked her neck to see where they were going. Kalendor had carried her the entire way to the cave. He traveled further in, and once content with the depth, set the priest down gently. Despite loaded with their supplies, and her besides, he didn't look as tired as she thought he would be. The cut she had given him had stopped bleeding long ago, and the coagulated blood was frosted. In his right hand he held Gandin's and his own cloaks. Dropping everything unceremoniously to the ground, Kalendor pulled out a large wax-paper covered lump and unfolded it to reveal dried wood. In a matter of minutes had a fire blazing.

They sat before the fire, close enough to lend the other their body warmth. Kalendor was unstrapping his armour, his cloak on the side and waiting for him once he was done. Valena was wrapped in Gandin's cloak, her rage long since spent, only leaving behind the bitter taste of despondency. Kalendor removed his chest plate and tossed it to the side, his voice breaking the silence. "He's not Gandin anymore, Valena. He's a Death Knight, the will of Arthas. He'll never be Gandin again. Your friend is dead." She was shaking her head before he finished. "No, you're wrong. For a moment I saw Gandin. I saw him. He's not gone."

Kalendor didn't answer right away, he just kept removing his armour. Once he did speak, his deep voice was soft. "You don't think I understand what it's like, but you're wrong. When Arthas attacked Quel'thalas I was in training to become a paladin. My father was among the fighters that resisted Arthas, under the command of Sylvanas Windrunner." He grunted as he undid a particularly stubborn strap for his right pauldron. "My father fell to the Lich King, as many others did. We mourned him and continued on the best we could. Once I completed my training I was sent to the Eastern Plaguelands in hopes of thinning the undead ranks. I found my father there. A Death Knight who didn't remember his own son." There was another pause, and he turned to look at Valena for the first time since he let her off his shoulder. "I killed him, Valena. I was forced to - he attacked me first. It's rational, but it made it no less hard to do. I killed my own father."

Valena remained quiet, knowing that words wouldn't do his confession justice. Instead she extended a cold hand and placed it over the wound she had given him. When she lifted her hand only a thin silvery scar remained, faintly seen in the light. The fire cracked and popped, and they sat in a comfortable silence, two souls united with the same heartache.


	9. Chapter 9: Pay Your Dues

_Disclaimer: I own nothing except the following characters; Valena Sunblinder, Kalendor Swiftwind. No copyright infringement intended._

_Author's note: I would just like to thank all the people reading this and the readers kind enough to leave reviews, whether good or bed (though fortunately they've been positive thus far). Really, you guys brighten my day whenever I see a new alert in my e-mail feed. Again, thank you, and I hope you keep enjoying the story. So without further adieu, Chapter 9!_

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><p>As the first rays of dawn broke the horizon Kalendor woke up, his body feeling stiff and sore. He would never admit it to Valena, but his fight with Gandin was more of a challenge than he'd expected. Death knights still embodied most of the deceased skills - why else would they hold such a prestigious place among the Scourge? - but the Argent Crusade knew that they lost some of their abilities in death. He assumed that's why the Lich King gave them other dark powers after they returned, to compensate for the potency they lost. His fight with Gandin yesterday pushed the Blood Elf to the threshold of his limitations, and Kalendor was among the best of the Argent Crusade - he had grown up on praise for his natural talent and potential. He could only imagine what the warrior had been like hale and alive, at the top of his prime.<p>

The Blood Elf had entered a battle rage during their fight, moving both on years of training and experience, and the old flight-or-fight instinct. When Valena had added her attack - no matter how half hearted - to Gandin's, his temper only erupted more, adrenaline and mania in turns setting his teeth on edge. And then the abrupt stinging pain above his eye had sent him spinning, reeling into a fury born of the need to survive these two and the need to destroy all opposition. His conscious had faded to a comforting black, intent to allow a beast take over, a beast hell-bent on destruction. He couldn't remember anything of the fight after that, only coming back to his body as Gandin slid off his blade, one hand out stretched to Valena. When he looked over to Valena, that berserk animal in demanded her blood too. She was another threat that needed to be eliminated, another foe to be cut down. Fury coiled tight in his chest, his heart pumping furiously, his breathing rapid and shallow. He had been afraid to so much as move.

And maybe he was naive, or too compassionate, and damn him for a fool, but he forgave her. How many times was he haunted by the memories of killing the death knight that wore his father's face? How better to break men than to send their dead family, comrades and friends at them, baring arms and murderous intent? It was a brutal, heinous tactic, but one that was undoubtedly effective in its purpose - to shock and awe, and to weaken hearts. He could not fault her her humanity or her desperation, clutching onto the last thread of hope when her best friend walked again. But Gandin was gone, replaced by an aberration that wore his face and his skin but did not have his memories. Even should the death knight find himself freed of Arthas' will, she would find that Gandin would still not be who he was before. Death changed them in more ways than one could count.

He looked over to the still-sleeping Valena, the blanket tucked under her chin, white-blond hair messy and her face relax. She seemed... fragile, somehow. Vulnerable. In spite of her harsh tongue and cruel words, she was just a woman - a woman who lost her best friend. The war with the Scourge never left a shortage of broken hearts in its wake - whether they be friends, family or lovers, the dead claimed whomever served them and left craters in the survivors lives. Valena was another survivor, another victim of this selfish, morbid dance; a broken marionette that didn't remember the steps. His fist tighten briefly in righteous anger; thoughts of the lives upheaval by the Scourge always made him angry. The dead should be left to their graves, not risen for front-line fodder or made into a mockery of undead "heroes" as if they were something the Scourge could emulate.

Dishonourable bastards.

Kalendor rose from his bedroll, last night's fire now cold and dead, another warmth that Northrend conquered. The country was unyielding, unforgiving and hard. Surviving meant preparing for every possibility you could think of and the ones you couldn't. He had lived in this inhospitable land with its frozen landscape and black, rotted core for the last three years, and had come to a certain admiration for it. Northrend demanded respect - it demanded a lot, in truth - but there were moments that were truly beautiful. Looking outside towards the sunrise, he could not help but appreciate this moment. As far as his eye could see, flat snow plains were occasional broken by the odd stone pillar, creating long blue shadows to mingle with the pink dawn of a new day. The air was icy cold as always, but it felt pure and clean; refreshing. Moments like these were rare in Northrend, but they did exist, and they sustained him with contentment in an otherwise war-torn life.

A slight rustling broke the morning stillness, and Kalendor looked over to find Valena sitting up, her back to him. He looked away, giving her the privacy she may need, and focused on preparing breakfest instead. When he was finished, he looked over to see that the priestess hadn't moved from her spot, hadn't spoken a word. "Breakfast is ready." He said, giving the woman an odd look. "I'm not hungry right now," was her terse reply, and Kalendor shrugged dismissively before eating his own portion. Finished with that he started to clean up, leaving Valena where she was, though he shot her the occasional look.

A glow emmitted from her, and there was a sudden, sharp inhale. "Lady Valena, are you well?" He asked, taking a hesitant step toward her. She hadn't moved from her bedroll yet. "I'm fine, stay away from me!" She snapped, looking over her shoulder with an intense, infuriated look. Kalendor took a step back, hands raised in a harmless gesture. "Alright, alright." He said, and she turned back to her lap, apparently satisfied that he wouldn't. The paladin breathed deeply through his nose, and continued to pack up their camp alone._ 'Arrogant woman! "Why yes Valena, I would love to serve on you hand and foot. No, no, I have no qualms about packing up your belongings like it's my job. Really, it's my pleasure. No, I don't have more pressing matters to attend to, honestly."' _He shook his head. The woman had some damn _nerve_, that was for sure.

He finished packing up camp and equipping his armor. They were ready to leave whenever Valena was ready, but she stayed put, now muttering lowly to herself. Bitter resentment and frustration gave way to real concern as the minutes passed and Valena made no attempt to move, or speak, or... do anything. What was she doing? "My Lady, if you are ready, the sooner we leave the sooner we can return to the Argent camp and inform Tirion of what occurred at the Wrathgate." His voice rolled over her mutterings, stifling them to silence as he attempted to provoke some kind of reaction from her.

Valena laughed, the sound brittle and somehow self-mocking. Her head lifted, though she looked at the rock wall across from her. Pale tangled hair fell down her shoulders to rest mid-back. "Seems Northrend has collected its dues," she said, raising her left hand for Kalendor to see. From the second knuckle to the tip of her pinky and the tip of her heart finger were the tell-tale black of dead flesh. The cold had claimed the appendages. His eyes widened in surprise and he walked over to her, grasping her hand gently in his. She breathed through her teeth sharply but made no protest.

"Valena, there are gifted healers at the Argent camp, if we get there in time they can reverse the damage-" He started to say. "I'm the best damned healer in Azeroth, pup!" She growled, her eyes flaring momentarily. He stopped speaking immediately, knowing that he must tread these waters carefully. She lowered her eyes to the hand, the black contrasting sharply with her pale skin. Her voice was soft this time, barely above a whisper as she said: "The hand was badly blistered from the wrist up. I reversed the damaged tissue as best I could. What's left is too far gone in the necrosis to ever feel again." She paused for a moment, wiggling her fingers. Kalendor's eyes widened slightly, looking at rest of her hand. Except for the blackened fingers, he would have never known that she had suffered from frostbite. If the hand had sustained such damage - and he didn't believe Valena would lie about that - and she was able to heal herself without a trace of traumatized flesh remaining bespoke the talent she possessed. "They must go. You need to cut them off, Kalendor." There was no hesitation in her voice, though he did detect a slight quiver. "What? There's got to be some other way-" She shook her head once, looking up at him, Fel-power orbs hard and determined. "The flesh is dead, and the corruption will spread if it is not managed now. I would rather lose the tips of my fingers than the whole hand!"

Had he really thought she was fragile before? Someone who was frail and vulnerable? No, Valena was fierce. He nodded his head once, knowing before she said the words that she was right. She continued, speaking as if to herself. "I wouldn't be able to heal it again if it spread; the flesh is dead, and it would taint everything else." Moving toward his belt with her freed hand, the priestess withdrew the small skinning knife sheathed there and pricked the tip of her heart finger. There was no flinch. "I couldn't feel that. The nerves are dead, and gangrene has already set in... Stupid. I should have recognized the signs of frostbite, I should have dressed my hands properly."

Not entirely sure what possessed him to speak the words, a sombre Kalendor spoke up. "Northrend makes you pay for your mistakes." The priestess grunted decidedly unladylike, a sardonic twist to her mouth. "You're just loving this, aren't you?" She growled, standing up. Kalendor shook his head. "No, this is not something I enjoy, my Lady." She stopped, meeting his eyes, a suddenly intense, searching look in her own. He felt vaguely uncomfortable, but was unwilling to look away, and after a few heartbeats she nodded slightly, as if satisfied with whatever she found. The priestess handed his knife back to him, hilt first, and disengaged her hand from his. "Let's be about it, then. We're wasting daylight." He couldn't be sure, but Kalendor felt relieved, like he had just passed a test.

Later, they walked through the new snow, kicking up powdery clouds in their wake. Valena stumbled behind him, tripping over the giant cloak and barely managing to catch herself. It was sad to see, but whenever Kalendor offered her aid she nearly bit his head off, so he just cursed her elven pride and kept walking himself. Sometimes he stole glances at her, and could see the occasional tremor running through her, or would see her looking down at her hand, an unreadable look in her Fel-powered eyes. When he had shortened the fingers her screams had rebounded off the natural stone walls to escape the cave and echo outside the empty landscape. Panic surged inside him, and only through experience did he move through the shock and guilt to heal the stubs of their rampant blood flow and coax severed flesh to cover the wounds. The pain he could not remove at all, and he could see it in her eyes, in her wan face.

After that few words were exchanged between them. Kalendor knew of warriors who lost fingers, hands, arms and legs, and they insisted at times that they could still feel the severed appendage as if it were never amputated. Was that what Valena felt whenever she looked at her hand? Phantom fingers where once there had been finger tips, or was she still in shock? The snow crunched beside him, and Kalendor looked over to find Valena walking beside him, and although her already pale face looked still sickly, she walked with her back straight and strides steady. When she felt his eyes on her she turned her head to meet his gaze. "They don't hurt anymore," she said, raising the glove-covered hand as if to prove her point. "And I wanted to... It was not an easy thing I asked, and it was harder for me to trust you to do it. So..." She breathed in deeply and looked forward again. "Thank you, Kalendor. You could have cut off my entire hand and claimed it was an accident. I might have even deserved it."

The corner of his mouth lifted a little, and he shook his head though she was not looking. "No, I'm not like that, Valena."

"No, that you are not." She replied, and in place of her cutting sarcasm there was respect in her voice for the first time.

Another hour passed, and they resumed their positions with Kalendor leading and Valena behind him. She was stepping in the footsteps he made so that she didn't have to struggle through the snow, he had come to discover when he looked over his shoulder once to find her hopping deftly from footprint to footprint, the fur cloak tangled around her hands, her bone-white staff jutting out over her shoulder. He looked over his shoulder now to find her still following his tracks, her movements less buoyant, more conserved. Tendrils of her white-blond hair fell from the hasty braid she had insisted on to catch the breeze.

Turning back he nearly stopped in his tracks, confronted with a black, hooded man when a moment ago there had been nothing but the white terrain. An immense figure sat stoic in the saddle of a black mount, tattered hood drawn to cover his face, but the distinctive blue glow emerging from its depths told Kalendor all he needed to know. Gandin had returned to his undead life, and something - or some_one_ - kept him returning to the duo. _"It's Valena... but why?" _He thought to himself, his pace increasing unknowingly. The sooner he cut the death knight down, the sooner they could be on their way to the camp. No creature of the Lich King would cross into the Argent Vanguard unless compelled to. Gandin was a black silhouette framed against the bright, clear sky. Kalendor found himself smiling slightly, anticipating another bout with the death knight. It was wrong to be so eager when it caused someone else so much pain, but Gandin provided a challenge that Kalendor rarely encountered.

When he was within twenty feet of the fiend Kalendor pulled his sword from its scabbard, the metallic sound ringing in the cold, still air. He was ready, and this time he was certain Valena wouldn't interfere, at least not on Gandin's behalf. Not after their -

"Not this time, pup." A hard voice said. Kalendor slowed his steps as he half turned to Valena, always keeping Gandin's still form in his sight. "What-?" He started to protest before pain exploded in his head. He grunted and half pivoted, half stumbled to face the petite priestess. Her face was cool, devoid of expression, but her eyes were two orbs of burning fury. _"I should have know."_ was the last lucid thought Kalendor entertained before the darkness engulfed him.


End file.
